It is interesting to note, nearing the end of my son’s so-called terrible two’s, that really the year has been relatively temperate, at least until recently. I hardly need describe the foot-stomping, red-faced, ear-splitting shenanigans he engages in with only the slightest of provacations (the Wrong Cup, the Closed Door, the Small Piece, etc), as anyone who knows a toddler knows too well the accompanying bouts of conniption.
What I find odd, though, is my response, which varies from amusement to detached laissez-faire to white-hot rage. The first two are no surprise: this is, after all, my second child so I’ve been well groomed by the first and observed that tantrums don’t, in fact, stop the world from turning. I can appreciate the theater of it all, mop him up when he’s through, and not engage a single neuron of pique. Or, if I’m busy doing something else, I can just ignore it entirely, letting him spool it all out in unobserved solitude.
That last one, though, the white-hot rage? What is that all about? I know it is developmentally appropriate, I know this is how he learns about feelings and what they do (as well as the fact that he is NOT King of the Universe as he’s assumed thus far), I know that he is just flexing his teeny tiny muscles of personhood. So why do I sometimes become near-apoplectic when he asserts his really quite comical will?